Team OCHR
by Team OCHR
Summary: Olive, Conway, Hector, and Rim, four students at Beacon Academy are about to form Team OCHR, a team that quickly becomes a family. But with the onset of war, prejudice, miscommunication, budding love and the normal everyday life problems of your average teen training to kill soulless monsters, can this family survive?
1. Orange

The sky was clear and bright, birds sang and a cool breeze blew in from the north. All the world seemed at peace in that moment, serene. Olive in her green overall shorts, fluffy white blouse, and knee high brown boots stood in the clearing, trees lining her round about. The rabbit eared Faunus with bold orange hair took a deep, cleansing breath. She could sense them coming, the grimm and she was more than ready. Beowolves, a whole pack of them, they were coming, dark and vile and hungry.

Olive slipped Swiftwind easily from her back, giving the bow a long, loving caress. This was going to be cake. Large and black the first of them tore through the trees baring down on her as it barreled through the wide clearing. A smile tugging at her lips the Faunus awoke her aura. Looping her fingers through the empty air she felt the familiar and comforting tingle as the drawstring formed where before there was none, a glittering gold arrow materializing in a similar fashion.

Stupid wolves, the girl thought confidently. Then it happened, blitz attack from the left. Olive leaped backwards turning her attention to the new arrival. She could feel the tension of the draw in her pull arm, the muscles in her back and chest taught as she tumbled backwards. She loosed the radiant gold bolt. There was no better feeling that the release, all the tension vanishing in a heartbeat, the breath you hadn't realized you were holding ebbing away, you felt almost weightless as though it were you streaking across the sky.

She hit the ground back first, using the momentum from her jump to carry her, rolling, before launching herself skyward again. Her hands were nimble, quick, and assured in their movements as they danced about the bow expanding the double-edged staff blades. Landing back on her feet she spun the elongated weapon that was a sword on either side of a long joined hilt, to refresh her physical memory. The bow may have been her favorite, but she she loved the swords too.

As the first of her opponents fell to the ground, dead, a hole blasted through it's still sparking chest she turned to face the next. She ran at it as two more came to flank his sides. When the first Beowolf lunged Olive slid to her knees, kicking up dust while bracing one end of her weapon into the earth. The other blade plunged deep into the beast which roared with rage. Hefting the monster into the air she threw it into it's nearest ally, before cutting into the next. Olive was skilled at combat and took on the creatures with ease.

The girl blinked and the forest fell away, the beowolves fading into nothing and she left the fond memory finals behind. The true enemy was far worse than any grimm, and the task far more daunting. Carefully she undid the binding, the stench was overwhelming, watering her eyes and knotting her belly. Olive cautiously lowered the flap and gagged. "Mom, I can't do this, the poop is everywhere!" she shrieked, her baby brother giggling at her innocently. "Besides I'm sure it's against some sort of law to make me do this away way!"

"What's the matter, big bad huntress to be can't handle a little boom, boom?" her mother, Violet, called from the other room, using a cute name for the heinous crime at hand.

"That's another thing," Olive went on shouting across the house. "I'm leaving for Beacon tomorrow I shouldn't have to do this anymore."

There was a brief bout of silence before the blond haired woman poked her head in the room. "All the more reason to make the most of my favorite slave while I've still got her!" she said giving her best villainous cackle before ducking out again.

Muttering to herself Olive began cleaning the offensive mess with a wipe. Then it happened, arching in the air a tiny yellow waterfall began to fall atop Olive's bright orange hair. She screamed shrilly as she fled down the hall leaving the toddler to laugh from the couch. "He peed on me!" she lamented while her mother joined in the laugher as she picked up her youngest having seen the frantic way her daughter had been running.

"Did you wee, wee on sissy?" she cooed before yelling down the hall. "Think of it as a parting gift!"

"Ha, ha mom, very funny!" Olive quipped in return.

The girl who stood fully clothed in the shower, vigorously scrubbing at her scalp was smart. She got good grades and excelled in the one thing she wanted to do with her life more than anything else, and that would be her huntress training. Her mother had disapproved of the idea, disdainful of the thought that her little girl would be one day off fighting evil.

Not that Olive was little, the eldest of six and very well developed for her age the Faunus was a tad headstrong as well. Something both parents swore came from her father's side, which was riddled with huntsmen and huntresses. Her father had encouraged her since childhood to do whatever she wanted, secretly prideful when she declared her passion, having shared the same desires only to have them stolen away in a hate crime during his youth. There were many amputees who battled grimm, but he had been scared in others ways, nonphysical, emotional damage that left him unable to activate his aura.

The way Olive imagined life at Beacon would was a dazzling fairytale. Or it would be if the princesses in such stories were actually good for anything. She had high hopes for herself and her future, little did she realize though, how difficult the transition from living at home to going to such a prestigious academy would be on her.

"What's going on in here?" Red, Olive's father asked from the open bathroom door, briefcase still in hand.

The man's daughter looked at him mournfully as water rained onto the bathroom floor, Olive having neglected the shower curtain. "Denis peed on me!" the girl whimpered squeezing shampoo onto her head.

"It was hilarious!" came his wife's muffled voice from the kitchen causing him to turn.

Red then smiled awkwardly at his daughter, placing his briefcase on the ground so that he could close the door. "Well, uh, have fun sweetheart." he said trying hard not to laugh as she glared at him warningly.

What a send off, Olive stewed as the hot water beat down upon her, first dad has to work all morning, mom has been busy all day and now I'm a walking urinal! After a few minutes her mother appeared with a change of clothes placing them on the counter. After she had dried and changed Olive made for her room when she heard her mother shouting. "Denis, no, put that down... Can someone please help?"

Olive the responsible big sister sighed and went to see what she could do. "Surprise!" he family chorused, surroundedby streamers and balloons.

Olive teared up immediately. "You guys did this for me?" she asked. "You had it all planned this whole time?"

Her mother coming over to embrace her nodded, "Yes, well mostly, Denis did do a bit of improvising which bought us time to get the streamers out of your father's case." she shrugged before shooing the younger children away from the cake. "Come on sweetie, make the first cut." she said motioning to the beowolf shaped pastry. Olive smiled brightly.


	2. Cyan

Conway was a long, lean young man with short cropped blond hair and bright green eyes. He stood in the ring patiently, hands clasped behind his back, cyan shirt and khaki dress pants bright in the direct, artificial light. There was nothing they could throw at him that he couldn't handle, nothing. The young man had strove for years to step out from beneath his perfect older brother's shadow and take his place in the sun. Today would be that day, he told himself, his father would finally recognize him for all his worth, there was no way he wouldn't, today he was going to Beacon. and his father would be proud.

There was an iridescent red clock over the large doorway. 10, 9, 8, it read ticking down the seconds until the grimm, whatever it was, was released. Conway came from money, and money could buy a lot of things. Education, specialized weapons training, grimms to battle, even girls when he was so inclined. No, Conway had never bought companionship, not in that way, but knowing he was a Godwynn was more than enough to get him dates with more starry eyed girls than would last a lifetime, his charm and good looks only adding to the appeal.

The one thing money couldn't buy him however was the one thing he wanted most. 5, 4, the clock counted down. His mother had died giving birth to him, maybe that was why his father disdained him so, rather than Vanna, the golden child's perfection. 3, 2, Conway unclapsed his hands, reaching up with his left to the retrieve the weapon strapped to his back. Binging it forward, hundreds of possible scenarios and plans of attack playing through his mind. 1, the grand metal door rose up revealing the great dark chasm beyond. The boy peered into the shadows adjusting his stance as with a flick of his wrist Sea-Storm, his trident, expanded.

Two pairs of blood red eyes peered at him from the dark void, Conway braced. Black and writhing one head of the king taijitu lunged forward. Smiling eagerly the boy leaped away, it had been some time since he had battled the duel natured serpentine beast. He was fast and nimble, dancing about the arena drawing the beast out, he didn't like not knowing where the second head was. The black half of the monster looped about his legs attempting to squeeze. Conway leapt over the coils twirling Sea-Storm over his head like a propeller, planting the fork end down where white met black, this brought out the the white half with a fiery vengeance.

He sprung away ripping out the prongs which had imbedded deeply, allowing the creature to bite and maul itself, as the heads fought one another. Conway laughed at his own cleverness and good fortune before setting back to the task at hand. His weapon of choice although neither glamorous, nor simple to wield couldn't have suited him better, a true reflection of his soul. He was often ridiculed for it nonetheless as few saw it's potential, much like the wielder himself. He spun the weapon before him, much like one would a staff prior to tossing it into the air only to catch the trident when it came back down.

The heads having ceased fighting converged on him, one from either side. He jumped and they followed, as he knew they would. Flicking a switch he released a stream of blue dust allowing his aura to blend with it as the element made it's way to the formidable end of the instrument. With a bellow Conway brought it down in a slashing motion beneath him, three fast moving razor thin waves shot from the end of the weapon cutting into the beast. The black head had only received a glancing blow, but the white fell, bifurcated completely. "Well," Conway called to enemy still, for lack of a better word, standing as he landed. "Come get some." With a hiss of rage it charged.

There was a blinding red blast and the head blew apart. Conway turned angrily to face his brother. "Seriously, what's the point?" Vanna his long chestnut locks gleaming brightly asked. "That damn thing turns into a rifle but you always use," he motioned to the weapon with a sneer. "That fork of yours!"

Conway let out a breath slowly, he had three hours before he was leaving for the school of his dreams, he wasn't going to let Vanna get the better of him, not today. He put Sea-Storm away, walking calmly past his brother who wielded a mean looking rocket launcher. Conway walked down the long hall, towards the library where he was sure he would find his father. Vanna following egging him on until he could take it no more. "It's a trident, Vanna, and you know it!" he roared.

His older brother having won laughed. "If you say so bro, just do me a favor and don't eat any boarbatusks while you're at Beacon, I still have some friends there you know!"

Conway hastened his stride, he didn't want his brother to realize how badly his words and constant torment hurt, didn't want him to see the tears standing in his eyes. For all his confidence in the heat of battle he was a very self conscious, and sensitive individual. He cleared his throat before knocking on the door edging it open. "Dad?" he called meekly only to receive no answer.

With a smug expression Vanna tried. "Dad?"

"Vanna, come in!" came the cheerful reply, it pierced Conway's heart as he stepped in first. Seeing him his father sighed before returning to his book. Vanna leaped onto one of the leather bound sofas without receiving so much as a cluck of the tongue in disapproval, he could always get away with murder.

"Dad," Conway tried again. "I'm leaving for Beacon today." his father grunted a brief acknowledgement. Conway took a shaky breath steeling his nerves and clenching his fists. How could he have been so stupid as to think this would change anything between the two of them? "I just wanted to say goodbye, I-I'm heading out now." The man behind the desk waved him away dismissively.

"You know you've got a couple hours right?" Vanna mused staring at the ceiling.

"Yeah," Conway muttered as he turned to leave. "I know."


	3. Hansa Yellow

Hector was an orphan. Regardless of anything else, this is what he thought everyone saw first when they looked at him. The half dozen fine scars across his face from the shattered glass complimenting the long, ugly, ragged one that ran the length of his forearm from when the bones had to be repaired, metal rods crisscrossing here and there to hold them together until mended. He gratefully remembered precious little of the accident. Only a few brief flashes of the bite of glass, the scream of metal as it was forcefully bent and reshaped, his mother's cry and the vain way his father's arm had flown across her chest to try and shield her from the impact.

Neither had battled grimms before, but everyone said it was a miracle Hector had even survived, let alone with as little damage as the then child of four had sustained. One eye witness even claimed that after initial impact both his mother and father had projected their auras about him, like a protective cocoon before the car entered the series of rolls that would launch it over the bridge. Hector chose to believe this account, one of the only real comforts he had about his childhood was the knowledge that his parents had loved him.

Not that he grew up without love, on the contrary, he was loved immensely by his uncle, the retired military general. This love however was tempered with a strict parenting style and a healthy instillment of responsibility and guilt. Or so his uncle liked to say whenever he had friends over. Why guilt was considered a healthy part of living Hector would never know though he didn't feel it quite as strongly as he supposed he should, he just assumed it was a military thing.

Despite his uncle's gruff exterior he had seen the man cry and listened to him whisper "I love you," when peeking in on Hector from the bedroom door every night since arriving in his home. The youth who was broad shouldered walked through the crowded byways intent on reaching his final destination, a fond grin tracing his lips. Growing up in the house he had, he had always known that he would either be expected to follow a military career, or that of a Huntsmen. Ridiculous and vain as it may seem Hector was far too attached to his long auburn hair kept in a loose ponytail, to see it all shaved away in basic training, so Huntsmen it was.

He was sliding past a group of boys his own age when a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him. Hector turned and saw the warm face of the man who had raised him. They looked at each other for a moment neither sure of what to say. "You're going to do wonders." the grizzled man said from behind his half moon glasses.

Hector smiled and gave a curt nod. "I'll write." he assured. Neither could drop their macho facade enough to embrace but they shared a laugh as each realized the dilemma at the same moment, and clapped one another on the back instead.

In his black jeans, white tee and bright hansa yellow leather jacket, spirits soaring Hector walked on. He had just about reached the terminal when he was halted again by another hand on his shoulder. "Whoa, are those hammers?" came an affable voice behind him. Hector turned and saw a fellow first year boy behind him with bright purple hair.

"Um, yeah." Hector grinned unconsciously touching the weapons named Justice and Freedom which rested in holsters at either hip. Not the most clever of names, but things he intended to hammer out for himself and others, every pun intended. "They turn into compact semiautomatics, lighter than air." he added eyeing sword the other boy possessed.

"You any good with them?" purple hair asked.

Hector snorted a laugh, "Oh yeah."

Hector's uncle believed in doing, and if his nephew was going to be a Huntsmen, he would be doing just that, hunting. Regardless of how many tests or exams he passed, or the state of his grades, to the silver eyed man there was no better teacher than life and all the experiences that life has to offer. So it was that Hector had been sent to muck about in the dead of night searching for the ursa said to have been seen nosing about the edge of town, his uncle dropping him off with a pat on the back and a "good luck."

It was dark, and cool, an east wind ripping through the long grass fitfully. What a night for monster hunting. After trekking through the grasslands and weaving his way through a standing of trees while the moon rose first high over head before descending to hang just behind him, the boy had wondered if this was just another of the uncle's drills. He had been at it for hours with nothing to show fir it, and threw a rock dismally into the distance, hearing a roar when he should have heard a thud as it hit ground. He grinned, Justice and Freedom fast at hand. The ursa burst through the trees all vengeance and fury. Lifting the weapons high over his head Hector fell to his knees and brought them back down again, striking the ground with earth shattering consequence.

The bear like creature struggled to maintain it's footing as the ground split. While it was unbalanced Hector attacked bringing both hammers first across one side of the savage beast's head then the other. Although the blows were mighty and something had cracked they seemed to serve little purpose other than to rile the monster and piss it off. With one bat of it's paw the ursa sent Hector sailing, crashing through trees. Getting to his feet he juggled the devices, hitting switches and turning knobs designed for single hand operation turning them into compact semis.

When the ursa broke through the surrounding trees this time he riddled it shots. The ursa roared swiping was razor claws paw at him. Ducking into a roll the Huntsmen in training evaded before leaping up and sending out another volley of gunfire. The ursa fell. Returning Justice to it's original state Hector approached the creature with hate blazing in it's soulless eyes as it tried to rise, he leveled Freedom's muzzle at it's head, just in case. Flipping the hammer around artfully he plunged the pointed, pick end of the weapon into the ursa's brain, ending it.

Hector blinked as the memory dissipated. He smiled up at purple hair. "I'm the best there is!"


	4. Rosewood

Charity, Rim reminded herself, she was only here because of charity. She stood by one of the large floor to ceiling windows and watched as the cityscape stretched out before her. She had to admit, she was a bit excited. Not only was she going to Beacon Academy, but this was her first time on an airship. She was thin, and dressed plainly, a long sleeved rosewood blouse, black lace gloves, and blue jeans, looking unarmed, her discreet weapons well hidden. She'd have rather worn her school uniform, but she didn't want to stick out either, and since no one else was wearing theirs yet, neither was she.

Rim leaned forward resting her head on the cool glass, they were passing over her old haunt. She closed her eyes and recalled cold, rainy nights, perpetual hunger gnawing at her belly, and, she shivered, the roaches. As unpleasant a memory as it was it served a multitude of purposes. Firstly it made her grateful for the life she had now, and the life she had escaped from during her time on the streets. Secondly it gave her determination, and a will power to prove herself, and lastly, yes, it did make her doubtful, just a little bit, ok, a lot.

She hadn't gotten to Beacon through money, or an old name, or even a vast amount of skill, but rather through a charitable program, one that took homeless, abused, or under privileged youths and gave them a chance for a better future. Rim with one checkmark in each category must have been like hitting the jackpot. So it was a bit understandable that she was awash with complex and conflictive emotions. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly how she had gotten there.

The weapon wasn't her own. Rim didn't have the funds to create her own tool, a reflection of herself, so she was forced to use the beaten and well worn rifle/sword the school had to offer. She managed to keep her only uniform clean despite her living conditions, but her unhealthy weight and almost persistent cough had a few of the teachers talking. "Are you ready?" the instructor had asked from beside the cage. Rim nodded and the boarbatusk was released from holding.

The creature barreled down onto her as she took aim through the crosshairs. She fired and the shot went wide, Rim's ears burned as those watching murmured. Her heart sank, but she still easily avoided the animal's business end spinning away before firing again. The beast was ready, deflecting the shot off of the boney plates along it's shoulders. Rim grunted with frustration as she fumbled, changing the weapon into it's sword form. It jammed, halfway through, boarbatusk bearing down on her and it jammed. She struggled for a moment more to no avail, the beast was upon her she leaped, smacking the beast with the hilt as she went over it. She landed nimbly, the boarbatusk snorted preparing another charge.

Running to meet it as it rushed her, Rim slid on the ground going between the monster's front legs thrusting upwards, into the unprotected belly with the half exposed sword blade. The boarbatusk died, Rim shoving away it's remains. The girl had done poorly on the exam, failure to activate aura with onset of battle, inability to properly change weapon, no clear battle stratagem, her grade book read, and yet the following day she was approached for the Defenders of Tomorrow program. They had offered her a chance at education, a future, living expenses, and even the ability to create her own weapons. She would have had to have been insane to decline.

Rim sighed moving away from the window, she loved her new home, it was a small, one bedroom, and it was paid for by the foundation, but it was hers, and it was safe. She was almost sad to be leaving it but it was nice to know there would be somewhere for her to go on breaks and holidays. She ambled idly about the airship for a few minutes, feeling less than assured after eyeing some of the other student's weapons. Fighting fans, what had she been thinking when she designed fighting fans? They were small, easily concealed up her sleeves, and totally silly looking when she actually stopped to think about it.

"It isn't a matter of appearance, or versatility," she recalled one of her former professors having said. "But a matter of function and compatibility with the weapon's wielder."

Rim and her fans were compatible, though, she thought. She was quick, nimble, always dancing and spinning away, a real ballerina of the battlefield. Not to mention they made it easier for her to channel her aura.

Using them always made her a bit rueful though, her graceful nature was something her father had always liked, commenting on her strong swan like appearance constantly. She didn't like thinking about him though, or her mother for that matter. Instead she forced herself to look ahead towards the future which had never seemed brighter.

The girl shook her head loose of unwanted thought and memory of the family she had left behind as she walked, pausing only a moment when she accidentally knocked into someone. "I am so, so sorry!" she apologized to the girl with long red hair, Rim's cheeks flushed when she realized that it was Pyrrha Nikos, the girl from all the cereal boxes.

"It's ok, my fault!" Pyrrha said in a friendly manner before continuing the way she had been headed in the first place.

Rim chewed at the nail on her thumb. She didn't realize she would be attending with Pyrrha Nikos, what hope did she have compared to skill like that? Did Pyyrha really the schooling anyway? She wondered then. As Beacon Academy came into sight however, much if not quite all of her fears and doubts subsided. It was far more grand and beautiful than she thought it ever could be. Rim rushed to the nearest window a broad smile spreading across her face. Oh yes, the future was bright indeed.


End file.
